Tag Archives: webcomic

Pineapples Make the Best Projectiles

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There’s actually an almost perfectly mundane explanation for why I’m carrying a pineapple around this party, but it’s much more interesting if you don’t know that. But I guess bringing a pineapple to a party for any reason is a little bit unusual.

My life, as you may know, involves a fair degree of surrealism, but I think it’s a good idea to help the weirdness along. I really thought I was going to carve that pineapple up at that party and then probably eat most of it myself, because I can eat a lot of pineapple, but then there was all this food already and so many people to talk to and then Misses Kitty randomly texted asking me to go downtown with her while she got her lip pierced, and by the time we got back to the party I actually really wanted that pineapple, but there were even more people to talk to and by that time The Man had left and Misses Kitty was my ride and she wanted to go. So I went and retrieved my pineapple from the kitchen, to the great hilarity of all who witnessed it. People more or less said these things to me while I made my rounds to say goodbye.

There was another comment about the TV show Psych, but I only watched part of one season of that show before deciding it was too silly even for me, so I had no idea what they were talking about and didn’t know how to make it funny for the comic. But someone did tell me that they thought pineapples were natural projectile weapons.

Anyway, making the world a weirder place is just part of what I do.

Scientists Adjust Their Beliefs According to Evidence

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And yes, I know it’s more responsible to say “we share between 40 and 50% DNA with cabbages” but it’s much funnier to say 42. Trust me. It’s a reasonable conclusion

Today has been an angry day. There are ridiculous fools spouting untenable propositions everywhere I go on the Internet. My outrage isn’t really about people who deny science, even though they are trying. It’s just about people who think they know everything, and who honestly believe that their personal opinion must be undisputed fact, and that therefore everyone who disagrees with them must be wrong. Also, the punchline is something I like to say whenever people bring up the subject of what percentage DNA humans have in common with vegetables, and sometimes I just draw a comic because I have a joke.

I do happen to know something about science and religion, because my father holds a PhD in chemistry and strong religious views, so I was raised to read the Bible but to also apply the scientific method, and to understand the difference between spiritual truth and objective truth. My dad was a research scientist for 30 years, but he transitioned into education late in life, and now he teaches science in religious schools, where his work is not always appreciated. It’s hard for me to believe that these people really, truly exist, but they do. He had a class where kids were literally sticking their fingers in their ears so as not to hear a lesson about evolution. Sure, they’re kids, but at the same time, what an apt metaphor for the young earth creationists, the climate change deniers, the anti-vaxxers, and of course, most perplexingly, the chemtrail believers in our midst.

But, like good old Neil DeGrasse Tyson said, “The good thing about science is that it’s true whether you believe it or not.” Your opinion that one particular book written by people whose technological advances never went beyond blacksmithing is the only legitimate reference work on the planet doesn’t changes the observations of natural phenomenon made by people who actually wanted to learn the truth about their world. Whether it’s a statement that runs counter to your religious belief or your personal view of yourself, sticking your fingers in your ears and humming loudly doesn’t change reality.

I will refrain from discussion modern physics’ take on the nature of reality.

Every Time I Tell a Joke

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Man, I wish I knew the ending to that joke.

He likes to pretend I’m not funny. But whenever I tell a good joke, he immediately calls his brother to repeat it, and then every single time we go out with anyone for the next 3 weeks, he tells it again. That’s what love is. Putting up with that.

Yesterday’s comic got a pretty good reception, tons of upvotes across various platforms, which, of course, led to a bunch of misogynistic online criticism from anonymous cretins. It’s sort of disheartening to know that they exist. Do they hide their sexism under a cloak of kindness when they move in public and only air their shame from behind the safety of the keyboard, or do they spew that acid wherever they go?

Gender-based criticism never really affected me that much, since I have never actually felt like a girl. Genderqueer dragons are immune to that nonsense. But attacking the characters in my comic is another thing! I am overwhelmed with outrage. Philistines! You know nothing. Anyway, if you think you can cut me down with words…that’s like trying to burn Superman with the light of the sun.

Selfishness

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I’ll be sure to get on that as soon as nobody needs me and I have nothing else I have to do.

These aren’t all my experiences, but they’re all pretty common experiences, especially for women, I think. Don’t be selfish, don’t be selfish. Always put others first. Don’t ask for things. Take care of your siblings, take care of your children, take care of your parents. There’s no time for caretaker burnout because everyone depends on you. You never get to be the selfish one.

But that’s exactly what you have to allow yourself to be, or so I’m told.

Prickly People Need Love, Too

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Slightly more enticing than the average guy wearing a “FREE HUGS” sign around his neck.

A couple years back, The Man took me to see some a friend perform standup comedy at a local club. One of other comedians doing a set that night was from out of town, and it might have been his first time in the desert. He tried out what was obviously a joke he had just thought of on his way into town, about the saguaro cacti and how they held their arms with a pugilistic attitude, making them all look like they wanted to fight.

He didn’t get any laughs with that joke, and I think it was because it was too easy, and it didn’t go far enough. Those of us who live here know that they don’t all look like they want to fight. Some of them do, but some of them look like they want to shake hands, reach something off a high shelf, or push people away, or hold them tenderly. A lot of them look like they want to hold you tenderly.

A lot of them look like they’re really proud to have sprouted arms that resemble genitalia, and then want to show those appendages off to you.

The point is, saguaros all have a lot of personality, in a way that can’t be said for every type of plant. They’re distinguishable, and while there are some with a particularly classic shape, no 2 are alike, and they’re easy to anthropomorphize.

Hard to hug, though.

Not impossible. But difficult.

At the Downtown Dispensary

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What’s really confusing about this is that you don’t have to open the door to get the full effect. You can smell the dispensary from a block away.

Miraculously, here is a comic. It’s miraculous due to the difficulty I encountered in bringing it to you. First of all, after uploading yesterday’s mandala, I went to work on a particular comic that I’ve been trying to finish all month, and the Wacom tablet was malfunctioning. I spend a long time messing with it–swapping USB ports, switching cables, turning things on and off, deleting and reinstalling the drivers–then finally emailed Wacom and started this pencil comic because I had a feeling that Wacom wasn’t going to be any help and I was going to need something for today, and that it would take me an exceptionally long time to get it ready without the computer.

In the morning, I received 2 completely useless (I mean, basically blank) emails from Wacom. The Man decided that I needed to upload newer drivers, which was a great idea, except that I hadn’t updated my OS in a while, and the new drivers needed a new operating system. So that took like 5 hours. It would have been faster but I didn’t have enough disk space for it, so I had to delete a bunch of files first. But the download took over 3 hours and the install took close to an hour. And then I still had to install the drivers. And now the tablet works again, huzzah.

Meanwhile, I drew this comic in pencil and then fixed the contrast in Photoshop so it was actually readable. But you can see why I prefer to do everything in Photoshop. I had to draw that same poster 6 times. Also, I note that the dude shrinks about 4 inches between panel 4 and panel 5. And the lettering is all wonky, and so are all the lines. I guess I could have used a ruler…

Just a slice of life. I do not have a medical card and don’t frequent the Downtown Dispensary–this was actually my first time setting foot in a dispensary–but The Man offered to drive some friends on their errands, so we were waiting for them in the lobby, and this basically happened: random dude stuck his head in the door, inhaled deeply, sighed, and left. Cracks me up. Bonnie Jo Campbell’s sitcom moment of the day. Subtle.

My pencil comics never get much love, but I honored my promise to myself. Sadly, what I needed to be doing with this day was perfecting the ceremony for the Fox and the Otter’s wedding, which begins in just under 12 hours from the time I’m writing this update. It’s ridiculous how much time I lost this week between American Airlines and Wacom both failing me. But I cannot fail the Fox and the Otter.

 

It’s a 3D problem

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Actually, I am angry about the Democratic primaries in Arizona, but I’m doing this new thing where I try not to obsess about things that fill me with righteous indignation.

Ladies with a little extra up on top, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

When I was in college, making and selling custom chain mail was a trend, and a friend mentioned that he had received his first commission for a chain mail bikini. The next time I saw him, I asked how it had worked out.

“Awful,” he said. “I’m starting over from scratch with a new design. The first one just fell apart when she put it on.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I guess I never really thought of a bra as a weight-bearing device,” he said.

Which struck me as hilarious at the time. Why else would a woman subject herself to a bra, if not to help her carry that burden? But apparently, this is all news to the people who design bikini tops, because I tried a number of them on today, and they all failed at their basic function. Listen, you can’t just take a small bikini and double the size and call it a large bikini. A bikini top is a weight bearing device for anyone larger than a B-cup. Here’s the rundown, in case you don’t have enormous breasts and never considered the structural engineering problem:

  1. The band: This is the foundation of the garment. If the band is too loose, everything falls out the bottom. Design fail. Possible obscenity charges.
  2. The cups: They need to be shaped roughly like a woman’s chest. Merely enlarging a small pattern results in uncomfortable and unflattering squishing, lack of support, potential nip slip, and possible obscenity charges
  3. The straps: Do not make extra-large bikinis with halter straps. Just don’t. Because a bikini top is a weight bearing device, and a human neck is not a sufficient anchor.

So it looks like I’m just going to have to wear a T-shirt over the the bikini top I already own. Because while I personally feel I should have the right to go topless whenever the mood strikes, for my own comfort, I don’t have the financial means to fight an obscenity charge. If ever someone cares to fairly compensate me for my creative endeavors, I hope to have all my weight-bearing garments bespoke. And my jeans, too. I don’t think there’s anything too outrageous about my shape, but it’s not one that anybody is designing clothes for right now. Women’s clothes are a joke. And not a funny one.

 

Next Time, I’ll Get You a Rabbit

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Is this slice of life, or is it a complex metaphor for my relationship with my husband?

I had a rare opportunity to write about my cat today. I mean, someone else specifically requested professional quality writing about cats for publication on a paying website, and I wrote about mine. I have written about her before and also attempted to paint her for this blog. This cat is a very particular representative of her species. We’re talking the archetype of Kipling’s cat who walks alone. She wants all the comforts of home and none of the restrictions, and while we mostly understand each other, there is clearly nothing I can ever do to communicate to her that there is no type of animal, dead or alive, that I would even enjoy receiving as a present. So she just keeps trying.

Actually, I should count myself lucky that she’s never brought me a rat, but that’s probably just because there aren’t that many rats around here. There must be Norwegians, because there are Norwegians everywhere, but I’ve never seen evidence of one. If she got a rat, it would probably be a packrat, but it doesn’t seem like she’s ever brought a packrat in. Maybe they’re super-delicious and she keeps them for herself.

Also, I recognize that it was extremely unprofessional to draw that woman’s hands with zero fingers but I did draw her fingers, over and over again, and all of them looked super freaky and I called it a day. No fingers for you, freak out lady. She’s lucky. I originally uploaded a version where the joint on her left arm was backwards. It looked crazy painful. Her hair started out with best intentions but lost something in translation. That rat is just gross as can be. Actually, it could be grosser. But it’s pretty gross. Seriously, if my cat brought that inside I would probably cry.

The Garden Fairy

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I’ll eat all this really healthy food tomorrow.

Of course, I always eat all my vegetables, so this isn’t me. But there really is a garden fairy. She lives next door; if you follow me on social media, you may have seen her obscenely large cabbages and cauliflowers. Not only does she bring me free food, she lets me play with her dogs, and takes care of my cat when I’m out of town, and also brings me stuff from her job. She’s pretty much the best neighbor a person could possibly have.

If you’ve never seen the video clip of the woman who only eats cheesy potatoes, you should Google “woman who only eats cheesy potatoes.” It’s astonishing, but apparently this woman only eats cheesy potatoes. Nothing else. Not steak, not apples, not pizza, not cheesy poofs. Just cheesy potatoes. To each their own, I suppose, but personally a potato-cheese combination is something I’d only want to eat a couple times a year. The Man and I like to joke about it, but I feel sorry for overly picky people, because they are missing out on all the delicious other things there are to eat.

Well, the garden fairy came over today and brought me beets, celery, greens, and fava beans, but I had already planned to make eggplant, mushrooms, and asparagus. Maybe tomorrow.

Dragon Comics 127

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In panel 4, The Man isn’t upset that the Girl got frosting for breakfast. He’s jealous because he didn’t get frosting for breakfast. 

Waffles are pretty simple; it’s the first thing thing the kids were able to cook completely without supervision. While writing this, I suddenly thought of something that happened 20 years ago, while making waffles for the guy I was dating my last semester of undergrad/first semester of being a supposed adult. Possibly, he was making waffles for me, under my supervision. But I said something to the effect that it was silly to worry about screwing up the ironing of the waffle, and then I said something like, “You’ve got to be a complete moron to fuck up a waffle.” And for whatever reason, he thought that was hilarious, and for the rest of our relationship, sometimes he would catch my eye and say, “You’ve got to be a complete moron to fuck up a waffle.”

Seriously, toaster waffles are full of all kinds of stuff you don’t need, and a waffle iron costs maybe $25. It probably pays for itself in a weeks’ worth of breakfast, and it’s so simple a small child can operate it. Message me at this page and I will send you the recipe for regular waffles or for gluten free waffles that are so good a lot of people prefer them to regular waffles. I have strong feelings about homemade waffles.

The other thing I was thinking about was a friend who does standup comedy, who was laughing at another comic because she had seen the second comic performing the exact same set a dozen times in a row. I said, “If you want to be a comedian you should probably try to write a joke every day,” and she laughed and agreed. I imagine that people who are serious about comedy write at least 1 new joke every day. It may not be a good joke, but the point is that, say you are only successful (like you think of something truly funny) 20 percent of the time, you would still have 6 new jokes a month. If you’re funny less than 20% of the time you might not have a future in comedy.

So then I told another friend that anecdote, and she marveled over my production of a daily blog 5 days a week. I try to write 4 comics a week (not that they’re all funny) and some weeks I only manage 1 or 2, but the main thing is to crank out new material, not rest on your laurels. I probably only write 2 really successful, upvoted/shared posts a month, but the more comics I write, the more traffic I get.

It’s way easier to have an idea during the day and mull it over for a while before you get to work than it is to come up with something when the clock is ticking and you’re staring at a blank page. I try to have an idea before 10 pm, but it’s not always possible.

That led me to think about the writer Bonnie Jo Campbell, who once explained to me her concept of “the sitcom moment of the day.” She says, “If you search through every day, something really funny happens. You just have to look for it,” and that’s the sitcom moment of the day. She meant it as a counterweight to depression, but it’s a great tool for writing comics. You can read all the things she told me that day on my old home page. The formatting is old school web wonky–all the apostrophes are replaced with white question marks in black diamonds–but it’s still readable.

This is all to say that this comic is pretty much non-fiction, except the waffles were lunchtime waffles and The Man pointed out the frosting connection over text, since he was on break at work.